


After School

by Anonymous



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Consensual Underage Sex, Discipline, Domestic Discipline, Hand Jobs, Jealousy, M/M, Non-Consensual Spanking, Non-Sexual Spanking, Over the Knee, Paddling, Pre-Slash, Spanking, Spanking of a Fictional Teenager, Teen Sherlock, Teenlock, Underage spanking, Virgin Sherlock Holmes, corner time, sexual spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:09:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25873393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Mummy Holmes has promised Sherlock a proper spanking after school for bad behavior. Much to Sherlock's dismay, there is a surprise visitor!
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 42
Kudos: 145
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

“Sorry, what did you say?”

John sighed, exasperated, and Sherlock’s heart panged. “I _said_ would you like to stop for coffee at that little bistro you like before we go home?”

The two boys walked side by side down the road, headed home from school. They’d been walking home together like that for several weeks, and Sherlock was pleased as punch. John wasn’t as clever as Sherlock, of course, but he was brighter than most of the other boys at school. He had a healthy curiosity for Sherlock’s experiments, always praising his work which made Sherlock’s heart swell and his cheeks heat. John was a couple years older, though, handsome, popular, and still somehow willing to spend time with Sherlock. 

Sherlock wished he could go with John for a coffee or for _anything_ this afternoon, but he just couldn’t. He was in far too much trouble, and so he knew he’d best go straight home as quickly as possible. Even though he was dreading it. 

He gave his head a slow shake at John’s offer, feeling overly glum. “Oh, no thank you, John. I have … um … I have some experiments to see to at home right away.”

John’s eyebrows raised, his interests piqued, bless him. “Oh yeah? Mind if I come over to see?”

“NO!” Sherlock shouted and John winced, giving him a wary look. “Sorry,” Sherlock mumbled hurriedly, pale cheeks pinkening. “I just … they aren’t ready. I’d rather you didn’t see them yet. Some other time. I promise.”

“Sure, of course.” John shrugged. “No problem.”

Sherlock regretted having to put John off, but there was absolutely no way Sherlock could let John come over this afternoon. Because, this afternoon Sherlock would be getting a spanking. 

That’s right, Sherlock Holmes, age fifteen, genius at the top of his class, was still spanked at home when he was naughty. And not even a respectable caning or leathering over his trousers, but a baby hand spanking on the bare bottom over Mummy’s knee. It was _imperative_ that John Watson never find out this shameful secret.  
  


Mummy had been absolutely furious that morning. The school headmaster telephoned just as Sherlock was heading out the door, and so he’d been forced to wait. He had stood there, squirming, listened to his mother’s voice getting angrier and angrier at whatever incriminating information she was being given over the phone. After hanging up, she’d immediately demanded he show her the note - the note he’d kept buried in his bag and conveniently ‘forgotten’ to show her. Her face just kept getting madder and redder and Sherlock knew his goose was cooked. 

Before letting him leave, Mummy had grabbed him by the elbow and delivered a volley of sharp smacks to his uniform trouser clad bottom while he tried in vain to dance away from her furious hand. Then she’d promised him a _proper_ spanking as soon as he got home from school.

And so Sherlock had headed off to school with both his bottom stinging from the little preview smacking and dread roiling in his gut at the prospect of more thorough punishment at the end of the day. His bottom had tingled through his classes. It was so unfair! He was far too old for spankings! Why was he born into a family that spanked? Why did his mother staunchly believe that spankings should be given on the bare bottom? Why, why, why!? It had been a miserable day, and while a part of him wanted to stretch it out so that he’d never have to go home and face the music, the other part just wanted to get it over with.

After saying goodbye to John, he drudged home. He took a deep breath and opened the door, trying to keep as quiet as possible as he toed off his shoes and set down his bag, as if he could sneak in and live a silent, secret existence in which nobody ever noticed him again. The house was quiet. His father would still be at work, and, thankfully, Mycroft was away at Uni. He crept down the hallway, making it to the bottom of the stairs before Mummy popped her head out from the kitchen.

“Oh, Sherlock? You’re home!”

He cringed and replied meekly, “Yes, Mummy.” Maybe she would forget. Oh, please, _please_.

“I’m almost finished with the dishes, and then I’ll be ready to give you your spanking.”

“Oh, but … but … _Mummy, pleeease!_ ” Sherlock couldn’t help but whine in a most undignified manner for someone his age. His face was burning hot in shame.

“But nothing, Sherlock. You know very well why you need to be spanked, and I’ll hear no arguments about it! Now, go on and use the toilet and get changed, and then I’ll meet you in the den.”

With a heavy heart, and a bottom tingling in dreadful anticipation, Sherlock obeyed. Mummy always required him to change into pyjamas for a spanking, presumably since they were easy to pull down in order to bare his bottom. Sherlock changed his clothes and went to the den, dragging his feet as he made his way to the corner where he knew Mummy wanted him to wait. He stood there with the blood rushing in his ears as the minutes ticked slowly by, shifting his weight from foot to foot. The entirety of his focus was centered on his bottom, which he kept clenching and unclenching nervously. Sherlock had forgone pants, and was now second guessing that choice. Maybe Mummy wouldn’t take his bottoms down after all, and he could have benefited from an extra layer of fabric. He was fifteen years old, after all -- nearly a grown-up! He had just about convinced himself that Mummy surely wouldn’t bare his bottom, when he heard her breeze into the room and he tensed.

“All right, Sherlock, let’s get this over with. Come here.”

He turned to see her sitting on the sofa, and he walked over slowly. His hopes of a spanking over his clothes were immediately quashed when she wasted no time in hooking her fingers into the waistband of his pyjama bottoms. With a yelp, he jerked and darted away.

“Oh, you _can’t_ take them down! I’m too old for this!” he stamped his bare foot on the ground, which he realized at once contradicted that statement.

“I most certainly can, young man! So long as you live in this house, you are expected to behave and will be punished when you do not. Spankings have always been the only way to get through to you, and spankings are always on the bare bum!”

“Ok, ok!” His ears reddened and he bit his lip with grim resolve. “But I can do it myself!” 

With a huff and an ever-reddening face, Sherlock reluctantly tugged his bottoms down just below the small swell of his buttocks. Mummy rolled her eyes and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him off balance. He landed with an undignified squawk across her maternal lap, and she roughly grabbed and yanked his bottoms all the way down to his knee-hollows.

“Noooo!” he wailed, reaching a hand back, but she deftly caught his wrist and pinned his hand in the small of his back, pushing his shirt up well out of the way in the process.

“I can’t believe you’re making such a fuss!” she said, clicking her tongue. “It’s like this every time I have to spank you!”

She delivered two sharp spanks -- one to each buttock, and Sherlock sucked in a quick breath, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, not from the pain, but the humiliation and indignity of it all. She gave him a quick lecture about behaving at school and always delivering letters home right away. However, Sherlock barely heard a word since he could only think about his bare bottom, already warm from the initial swats, exposed and vulnerable to Mummy’s punishing hand which would, at any moment, begin spanking him in earnest.

Once the lecture was through, she raised her arm and began to spank. Mummy never wasted time with a warm-up, but launched directly into hard, no-nonsense smacks. It was always a sound spanking right from the beginning. Mummy’s hand felt impossibly hard, and every smack stung like a swarm of hornets. Though Sherlock was thankful she never resorted to using a wooden spoon or hairbrush, he quickly forgot that sentiment while his bottom was being burned up by her hand. There was simply no way anything could possibly be more painful than the torture he was currently suffering: having his bare bottom spanked by Mummy's hand over her knee!

Sherlock was just beginning to drum his feet against the sofa, the fire in his bottom becoming scorching hot, when Mummy suddenly stopped spanking. Was she really finished already?! Sherlock desperately hoped so! Then he heard the knocking at the door.

“Who on earth could that be?” she asked, clearly annoyed to be interrupted in the middle of teaching her naughty son a thorough lesson over her knee.

She quickly pushed him up off her lap and he stumbled awkwardly, pyjama bottoms slipping down to his ankles. 

“You wait right here, and don’t even think about pulling those bottoms back up. I’ve barely even started spanking you!” Mummy shook her finger at him and then rushed off to answer the door.

Sherlock stood rubbing ruefully at his warm bottom, dreading going back over her knee to continue the spanking. He should have been more worried about who was at the door, though, because half a moment later John Watson, of all people, walked into the den with Mummy following close behind. Sherlock shouted, tugging his pyjama shirt down in an attempt to preserve modesty. John froze and his jaw dropped.

“J-John! What are you doing here!?” Sherlock’s face was most certainly redder than his bottom (which was only about half-spanked by Mummy's standards!)

John gave his head a little shake, his own cheeks reddening. “I forgot to give you your textbook back.” He held up the chemistry book Sherlock had lent him at school. “Realized I had it and thought you’d probably need it for homework. Sorry.”

“That’s so thoughtful, John,” Mummy gushed. “I apologize for the timing, though, as you can see I’m in the middle of giving Sherlock a spanking.”

“ _Mother!!!_ ” Sherlock hissed.

“Oh, what’s the big deal, Sherlock? I’m sure John’s gotten a spanking before! Right, John?”

John gave an infuriatingly unreadable grin. “Oh, yes, of course, but luckily I haven’t needed one in a few years.”

“See, Sherlock? Some children know how to behave!”

“I’m not a _child,_ mother!”

“Oh, I beg to differ! A naughty child who’s grown too big for his britches! Take a seat, if you would, John. An audience may help to teach Sherlock a stronger lesson!”

Much to Sherlock’s horror, John plopped into a wingback chair and looked on eagerly. Sherlock couldn’t believe it. This was an utter nightmare! Mummy sat back down on the sofa and gave Sherlock an expectant look. He wanted to run away, but that would only make things worse. Besides, he didn’t want John to think he was too much of a sissy to take a little baby hand spanking. Sherlock flopped back over Mummy’s lap and clutched a throw pillow, squeezing his eyes shut and bracing himself.

Sherlock had every intention of being silent and stoic through the rest of his spanking; taking it ‘like a man’ in front of John. Unfortunately, that intention flew right out the window as Mummy began spanking harder than he ever remembered her spanking before. It was almost as though she wanted to prove to John that she meant business and was a skilled disciplinarian. She stiffened her hand and really put her back into it, each spank echoing loudly and delivering an unbearable sting to Sherlock’s delicate skin. She kept up a rapid, intolerable pace that made it difficult for Sherlock to even catch his breath as every inch of his bottom was spanked to scalding hot. 

At first, Sherlock clenched his teeth and kept relatively quiet, but that soon became impossible. Despite not wanting to look like a crybaby in front of his crush, Sherlock’s aborted grunts and yelps quickly dissolved into full-blown tears, and he finally gave in and sobbed into the pillow. He just couldn’t help it since his bottom was absolutely burning up! Though he writhed and kicked his feet, Mummy easily held his lanky body down over her lap. She just kept spanking and _spanking_ until Sherlock no longer gave a hoot about John Watson watching. Nothing at all seemed to matter since Sherlock thought he might die at any moment from the endless, _excruciating_ sting being smacked into his bare bottom!

It was several seconds after she had stopped spanking and was shaking out her sore hand that Sherlock even realized it was over. She stood him up and he wiped at his tear-stained face, steadfastly avoiding looking in John’s direction. Sherlock’s bottom was throbbing hot, and he gave into the temptation to give it a firm little rub, sniffling pitifully.

“All right, Sherlock, that’s quite enough rubbing,” Mummy said and pointed to the corner. 

“But Mumm-Mother!” Sherlock gave her an incredulous look. Surely she wouldn’t make him stand red-bottomed in the corner with John Watson there watching! _Right!?_

Unfortunately, she most certainly would, and so under threat of more spanking, Sherlock finally shuffled dejectedly to the corner, his bottom now much, much redder than his blushing face. Even worse, John accepted Mummy’s offer of tea, as though Sherlock weren’t standing half-naked in the corner. His scarlet bottom was a shining beacon of his shame and naughtiness; hot, sore and entirely exposed to the room where John and his mother sipped tea and chatted.

“I really hope this will be the last spanking Sherlock needs, but he’s got quite an attitude, if you didn’t already know.”

“Oh, I know!” Johns said with a chuckle, and Sherlock’s ears burned. “That’s part of what I like about him!”

“Well! He needs to learn when to tone it down or else he’s going to find himself with a sore bottom _very_ often!”

“It does look awfully sore,” John mused. “I’m not sure my bottom or my sister’s were ever quite that shade of red after a spanking. I’m sure he’s learnt his lesson!”

Sherlock wanted to sink into the ground. This was beyond mortifying! His bottom throbbed extra hard as if he could feel their eyes staring right at its bright red well-spanked state.

“Well, Mrs. Holmes, thank you for the tea, but I ought to be going.”

“Of course, dear. I’d hate to keep you from your studies. Don’t want you to end up like Sherlock here.” 

They both chuckled and Sherlock wished for death, a natural disaster, an alien abduction, or _something_ to get him out of his miserable situation.

“It was nice meeting you, John. Go ahead and say goodbye before you leave. Sherlock still has a bit more corner time left.”

John sidled up next to Sherlock. “Thanks for the book, Sherlock, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Sherlock only hummed, refusing eye contact, but John leaned in and whispered low so Mrs. Holmes wouldn’t hear, “Don’t be embarrassed, mate. I was lying. My Da spanked me only last week! And besides … you have a real cute arse!”

John breezed away before Sherlock could react, but his heart sped at the sudden compliment. Thanks to John’s admissions, Sherlock spent the rest of corner time thinking nothing at all about behaving at school or bringing notes home to his parents. Instead, he was entirely consumed by thoughts of John Watson.


	2. Sunday Afternoon - John's Turn!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John takes advantage of being "in charge" when Sherlock acts like a brat after jumping to the wrong conclusion about John's relationship status. In other words, a faulty deduction leads to a sore bottom and some rather interesting revelations.

“I’m so glad you’re here, John,” Mummy Holmes said from Sherlock’s doorway, her face peering in through the six inch gap between the door and frame that Sherlock had reluctantly left open for propriety’s sake. His parents didn’t like him ‘holed up’ in his room with the door shut - especially with guests over.

Sherlock scowled. _Why was Mummy interrupting now?_ He had his most recent experiment laid out on his desk and John had been listening to him explain his findings, enraptured, hanging on Sherlock’s every word. Sherlock had been enjoying every minute of it, practically preening like a peacock.

“Of course, Mrs. Holmes,” John answered politely and Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I love hearing about Sherlock’s experiments.” Sherlock’s frown quirked up in spite of himself, his heart swelling with joy.

“Sherlock, Dr. Frank from the University just called.” Sherlock only shrugged, uninterested. Dr. Frank was some professor that his mother occasionally helped with research projects. “He asked if I could look over some documents with him this afternoon, so I’m headed out ...” she hesitated. “That is, if you boys will be all right here?”

Sherlock snorted. “Of course. Obviously!” However, his cheeks colored at the exciting prospect of spending time alone with John. “Sorry, John,” Mrs. Holmes pulled a face and glanced at her watch. “I hate to leave Sherlock alone for long without someone looking after him. I hope you don’t mind playing childminder for the afternoon?”

“ _Mother!_ ” Sherlock hissed, completely incensed. He was fifteen years old, for fuck’s sake, he didn’t need _looking after_. “I don’t need a _childminder_!”

John was trying hard to stifle a laugh, biting his bottom lip. He shook his head. “It’s fine, Mrs. Holmes. I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

“Great! I’ll leave you in charge, then. Sherlock, be on your best behavior!”

Sherlock stood there with his mouth gaping, blood boiling at the audacity of his mother. His pale face was absolutely burning in embarrassment at this revolting turn of events. Unfortunately, it got even worse, as Mummy continued, hell-bent on humiliating Sherlock beyond all reason.

“Don’t hesitate to take him in hand if he gets too cheeky.” She winked and then breezed away from the doorway and out of the house, leaving Sherlock bright red, ears burning. After that disastrous day during which John had witnessed Sherlock being ‘taken in hand’ by Mummy Holmes, there was no question as to exactly what she meant. Sherlock wished he would just sink into the ground.

“Don’t worry about it, Sherlock," John gave him a playful little shove. "She’s just being funny.”

Sherlock harrumphed. _He_ didn’t find it funny. But then John was asking for more details about the experiment, and Sherlock got suitably distracted from his annoyance with long-winded explanations. Soon, he began to feel cheerful again, forgetting how embarrassing Mummy was.

They were having a perfectly nice time until a loud, insistent beeping came from John’s school bag. 

“Oh!” John said, reaching in to pull out his pager. He studied it and then asked, “Do you mind if I use your phone?”

Sherlock frowned and shrugged, curious, but not wanting to make a huge deal out of it. “Sure. There’s one in the kitchen.”

Sherlock didn’t intend to follow John at all, initially letting him go to the kitchen alone, but after several moments he couldn’t stand it. He just _had_ to know who would be paging John in the middle of a Sunday afternoon. Was it his parents? Or some _other_ friends? The thought of John’s Rugby pals made Sherlock’s heart twist. Those other boys definitely didn’t like Sherlock, but that never seemed to bother John. Still, he worried John may some day change his mind. Worry churning in his gut, Sherlock suddenly found himself at the swinging kitchen door listening to John laugh on the phone.

“It’s no problem! Yeah … mmhmm … yeah, yeah, you’re adorable.” another chuckle, “That works for me. I can pick some up on the way. See ya later!”

Sherlock scowled. Was John planning on meeting up with another friend _today_? What if it was someone who was _more_ than a friend? Was it a girlfriend? Or a _boy_ friend? He suddenly wanted to punch the wall. He stood there fuming and John nearly bumped into him when he came out through the door.

“Oh! Sherlock. Hi! Sorry to use the phone like that, but - ”

“Whatever!” Sherlock snarled. “You can go ahead and leave. No need to stick around for my sake.”

John balked. “What are you talking about? I thought we were having fun. Do you _want_ me to go?”

“Yes,” Sherlock lied, crossing his arms. “I’m bored with you. It turns out you’re far too simple for me after all. What’s the point of explaining experiments to a moron? Like trying to teach a dog maths.”

“Sherlock … ” John said, the warning in his tone palpable. “Why are you being like this?”

“Since you don’t want to be here, you may as well just leave.”

“I don’t want to leave.”

The audacity! “If you’re going to be a lying arse,” Sherlock snarled, “you should just go home right now!” He emphasized his words with a foot stomp and immediately regretted behaving so childishly.

“I don’t think your mother would like that,” John said, the corners of his mouth quirking.

John's apparent amusement just made Sherlock angrier. “Who cares?” he huffed, grinding his teeth.

“You’re being awfully cheeky for someone who thinks he’s too old for a childminder.”  
  


That was it. “Oh, _fuck_ you!” Sherlock shouted.

John sighed, loud and long-suffering, though he still seemed like he was struggling to hide a grin. “I didn’t think I’d actually have to do this, but you’re giving me no choice.” 

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“You need a spanking, Sherlock.”

Now it was Sherlock’s turn to balk. “Don’t be ridiculous! You can’t sp—” his cheeks burned as he tripped over that terrible word. “Do that!”

John was looking downright gleeful now. “Of course I can. Your mother left me in charge and I _know_ from prior observation that she would approve. Your attitude is just begging for a smacked bottom. Come here!”

Before Sherlock could even think of fleeing, John grabbed him by his skinny wrist and hauled him back upstairs to Sherlock’s bedroom. Keeping a firm grip, he plopped onto the bed. Sherlock’s preservation instincts kicked in, and he squirmed and twisted like mad, but his wiry frame was no match for John’s rugby-toned muscles. With alarming ease, John manhandled Sherlock across his lap, pinning him in place.

Sherlock couldn't believe it. This was ridiculous! What was John playing at? “You can’t do this!” Sherlock cried, still fighting tooth and nail to get away.

“Of course I can,” John said, sounding more bemused than angry. “Hold! Still!” He emphasized each word with a sharp smack to the seat of Sherlock’s fitted trousers, making Sherlock stiffen in shock.

Without giving Sherlock time to recover, John continued, and delivered a volley of stinging smacks to Sherlock’s momentarily stilled bottom. Sherlock was astonished by how much these spanks _hurt_. John clearly wasn’t playing around when it came to how hard he was willing to spank. It wasn’t long before Sherlock began squirming, his backside heating up quickly even through his clothing.

John suddenly stopped, and Sherlock was so relieved by the reprieve that he didn’t notice John reaching around to unfasten his trousers until it was too late. John quickly tugged Sherlock’s slacks and underpants down over his slender hips, and, slow to react, Sherlock could only let out a weak _No! No!_ _No!_ of protest as his bottom was bared, pale but for a bit of pink from the preliminary spanking through his trousers.

Sherlock flushed, his heart hammering in his chest. John was now seeing his bare bottom for the _second_ time _,_ only this time, John would be the one to spank it. John rested his hand on Sherlock’s naked buttocks, and Sherlock sucked in a breath. John’s hand was rough and calloused, and much, _much_ larger than Mummy’s. Sherlock was certain he was in for a very severe spanking indeed. He wanted to bolt, but he feared any struggle would result in John seeing far more of his naked bottom half than he already was, so he kept still, waiting for the inevitable.

Sherlock didn’t have to wait long before John raised his arm, making Sherlock tense as he squeezed his little buttocks together in anticipation. The first bare-bottom spank made contact right in the center of his bottom - a spanking bulls-eye. The sound, crisp and loud, seemed to echo throughout the entire house. Half a second after the alarming sound of skin smacking against skin, the extraordinary sting registered in Sherlock's brain, and he let out a mighty huff of air. John followed up almost immediately with a second swat. And then a third. He kept up a rapid, steady pace, alternating cheeks, moving up and down, making sure to punish every inch of spankable territory on Sherlock’s small backside.

Though Sherlock was slim, he still stored just a bit of extra baby fat in his narrow backside, and he could feel the chubby flesh jiggling with every clap of John’s hand against his bare skin. John spanked _hard_ , and the stinging flesh wobbled from both the impact and Sherlock’s fervent hip wiggling. It didn’t take long before Sherlock felt like his backside was on fire, and he writhed and kicked like a little kid, hating himself for being such a baby, but unable to stop his natural response to the unbearable discomfort in his seat. He gripped the duvet of his bed, yelping and shouting at every stinging spank. He was coming dangerously close to sniffles when John suddenly stopped, and Sherlock slumped in relief across John’s lap, his bottom throbbing hot.

John whistled. “Wow! Your bum sure gets red when you’re spanked.” He gave Sherlock’s scalding buttocks a condescending pat.

Sherlock’s face turned just as red as his rump. This was beyond mortifying. How would John ever see Sherlock as a potential romantic partner after having spanked his bare bottom like this over his knee? Now that Sherlock’s wasn’t being spanked for the moment, he could focus a bit on the close proximity of their bodies; John’s thick, muscled thighs beneath him, and his warm soft tummy pressed against his side. Sherlock’s heart pounded and he willed his cock to remain at only half-mast lest he fully embarrass himself and never live it down (not that he would ever live down having his bare bottom spanked bright red by his crush!)

“Now for the last bit,” John said, and Sherlock steeled himself. “This is what my Ma always used to do when I was extra naughty. I think it’ll do you and your attitude a world of good.”

Sherlock didn’t like the sound of that. _What was John going to do?_ As though answering the unspoken question, John tugged Sherlock’s pants and trousers all the way down to his ankles, giving Sherlock a few warning spanks to the backs of his thighs when he tried to protest. Once that protest had been sufficiently nipped in the bud, John hooked his free hand beneath Sherlock’s outside knee and spread Sherlock’s legs wide open. Then, to Sherlock’s horror, John began spanking the insides of his thighs. Sherlock screeched, but John ignored his cries, firmly holding his legs open and warming the tender skin along the insides. He spanked from way up at the tops (frighteningly close to Sherlock’s family jewels, thank you very much!) all the way down to just above his knees. These swats burned so much worse than the spanking to his bottom had, so much so that Sherlock felt tears pricking the corners of his eyes.

When John finally released his hold on Sherlock’s leg, Sherlock instantly squeezed his thighs together, rubbing the hot, stinging skin in anguished desperation. Showing no mercy whatsoever, John almost immediately resumed spanking Sherlock’s bottom again. The lack of mercy is what made the tears flow at long last. Sherlock let his body go limp and cried softly as John finished up his spanking with several extra hard blows, the last of which made Sherlock yowl pitifully. With all the snark and attitude spanked right out of him, he could only pout and sniffle while his entire backside throbbed in dreadful burning agony. John had most definitely spanked harder than Mummy ever had. Sherlock was sure of it!

After Sherlock’s tears finally subsided, John helped him to stand on shaky legs, his trousers and pants bunched around his ankles. Sherlock reached back to rub ruefully at his well-spanked buttocks, feeling terribly sorry for himself. Not only was John planning on meeting up with some boyfriend later (Sherlock had by now convinced himself of this fact), but John clearly thought Sherlock was enough of a child to be put over his knee for a sound bare bottom spanking!

Feeling forlorn, Sherlock didn’t even object when John led him shuffling over to stand in the corner of his own room with his red bottom on display. He stared at the corner, wiping angrily at his tear-stained face until John broke the silence.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong, Sherlock?”

Sherlock huffed. “I’d think that was pretty obvious by the state of my … ” he blushed, “rear end.”

John chuckled. “Well, yeah, I guess you’re right. But you started being a prat before I even had to spank you. What happened? We were getting along well before …” Sherlock could almost hear the gears turning in John’s head. “Is this about the phone call? I’m sorry for interrupting and using your phone, but I just needed to talk to my sister about dinner.”

Sherlock whipped his head around. “Your _sister!?_ ” Sherlock’s deduction had been _way_ off. He couldn’t believe he’d been such an idiot; jumping to conclusions without nearly enough data. Mycroft would be terribly disappointed.

John raised one eyebrow. “Uh, yeah.”

“Ah. Right. Well, then.” 

“Sherlock, did you think it was someone else?”

Sherlock’s ears burned. “N-no! I mean … I assumed you probably have some boyfriend or girlfriend. It only makes sense, but I -”

“I don’t.”

“What?”

John was grinning now, though his cheeks were a bit pink. “I don’t have a girlfriend or boyfriend.”

“Oh.” Sherlock felt as though all the air had been sucked out of him and he stood there deflated. His ears were ringing and the hot throb of his spanked bottom faded momentarily into the background. “Well, good.”

“Good?”

His heart tightened. “I just mean … it’s good to know. More about you, that is.”

“Seems you’ve learned two important things about me today,” John said, his grin lopsided. Sherlock furrowed his brow. “One, I’m single, and two, I won’t hesitate to take you over my knee to spank your naughty arse.”

Sherlock spluttered, unable to form a coherent retort. He narrowed his eyes at John, mind flashing back to mid-spanking. He’d been far too distracted at the time to take notice of much else than his stinging backside and his own embarrassment, but somewhere in his mind palace he realized he had a memory of feeling a little prodding against his stomach in the midst of it. John had been aroused! It was possibly a natural, purely physical reaction to having someone flailing over his lap; however, now that Sherlock thought about it, John had really jumped at the chance to spank him. And then there was the playful teasing … _well!_ This was a thing that John definitely enjoyed. Unlike Sherlock's incorrect deduction about John's sister, he knew for sure this one was correct. _Fascinating._

More importantly, John _didn’t_ have a significant other, and the fact that John was eager for Sherlock to know that meant that maybe, just maybe Sherlock was a candidate for filling that role. Sherlock was momentarily elated, but then touched the hot, red skin of his backside, wondering if his bottom would be able to survive such a relationship!


	3. The Aftermath and the Start of Something New

Sherlock’s brilliant mind was practically whirring after so many new and surprising developments had arisen about John, when suddenly John’s voice interrupted his thoughts, “Sherlock!”

Sherlock nearly jumped, his focus returning to the here and now. The here and now was, unfortunately, him standing bare red bottomed in the corner of his room after being soundly spanked by John Watson. He peered over his shoulder and saw that John was practically lounging on the bed, smirking at him. The sight of John so comfortable on his _bed_ sent a shiver of delight up Sherlock’s spine. He struggled to swallow, before croaking out, “What?”

“I didn’t think you were allowed to rub your bottom during corner time.”

Sherlock sucked in a quick breath and snatched his hand away from his backside. Having been so lost in his thoughts, he honestly hadn’t realized he’d been rubbing his buttocks so fervently. He was just so terribly sore, and rubbing gave a small bit of comfort and relief to the burning skin.

“Why don’t you put your hands on your head,” John suggested, voice playful, but still strict enough that it was clear no disobedience would be tolerated (unless, Sherlock was sure, he wanted to end up back over John’s knee for round two!) “Just to help you remember. Can’t have you rubbing the sting away just yet. This is supposed to be a lesson to behave yourself.”

Reluctantly, Sherlock raised his arms, placing his hands atop his mop of dark curls. The position lifted his t-shirt, which normally hit him at the tops of his hip bones, all the way up to his belly button, leaving him completely exposed from mid stomach down to his ankles where his trousers and pants were bunched. His sore bottom tingled in the cool air, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot. The gentle throb in his bottom soon made his cock take interest. He squirmed, feeling terribly silly, utterly humiliated, and just a little bit aroused, wondering (and worrying) if John would notice his ill timed erection.

Finally, after what felt like several agonizing hours, but was likely only a few minutes, John cleared his throat and sauntered over, coming up right behind him.

“All right, Sherlock,” he said, and Sherlock could feel his breath on the back of his head, which made goosebumps rise along the nape of his neck. “Follow me.”

Sherlock was confused, but with his bottom so freshly spanked, he felt compelled to obey. He bent to pull up his trousers, but John stopped him. “Not yet. Leave those where they are. Come on.”

And so Sherlock had to do an awkward little shuffle-waddle with his pants and trousers hobbling his ankles as he followed after John, his naked hot red bottom jiggling all the way. Sherlock tried desperately to tug his shirt down in the front to at least cover his bobbing semi-erect penis; however, he suspected by John’s grin that John had already noticed. It was beginning to feel like John’s amusement only grew with Sherlock’s mortification. _Interesting._

The humiliating trek ended in the hall toilet where John flicked on the light and positioned Sherlock so that his backside was facing the large mirror over the sink. Standing next to him, John gripped Sherlock’s chin and turned his head so he was looking into the mirror. Sherlock’s jaw dropped at how unbelievably red his bottom was. His usually pale white posterior was now a shiny, cherry red from the tops of his buttocks down to the backs of his thighs.

“Looks awfully sore,” John said, eyes hooded. He licked his lips and Sherlock’s pulse ratcheted. “How does it feel?”

“S-sore,” Sherlock said, feeling rather dull, but it was all he could manage with the distracting buzzing in his ears and the pounding of his heart. It was true, though, his bottom still stung. Every time he moved, the stretch of skin shot a pulse of aching burn along the tenderized flesh. However, being forced to not only _look_ at his well-punished backside in the mirror, but also _comment_ on it was making Sherlock’s face burn nearly as much as his bum!

“I bet it is,” John said, voice low. “And I only used my hand, too. Next time, I may need to use an implement.”

_Next time!?_ Was this going to become a regular part of their relationship? Were they even in a relationship? They were acquaintances, of course, maybe even friends, but were they more than that now? Sherlock was beginning to feel overwhelmed at the prospects. He’d always fantasized about John holding his hand, kissing him, climbing on top of him and … well, _you_ know! But he’d never in his wildest dreams thought about John _spanking_ him, although now that it had happened, as embarrassed as he was, he had to admit there was something both frightening _and_ appealing about it.

“My ma sometimes uses a wooden spoon from the kitchen,” John continued, running his hand over Sherlock’s scalding buttocks. Sherlock’s spine, as well as his cock, stiffened at his touch, and he angled slightly away, still trying to keep his arousal under wraps. He realized he needn’t worry since John only seemed to have eyes for Sherlock’s blazing red bottom at the moment. John caught Sherlock’s eye in the mirror and grinned. “Your bum is still warm, but cooling quickly. A paddling with the spoon would leave a more lasting impact.” His eyes darted to the counter and flashed with excitement when he caught sight of Mummy’s large, oval wooden hairbrush perched next to the sink.

Sherlock didn’t need any extraordinary powers of deduction to realize what John was thinking. Of course, Mummy had used the hard back of that brush against Sherlock’s unfortunate bare bottom several times in the past, and so Sherlock was more than familiar with it’s deep, penetrating sting.

John picked it up, and Sherlock couldn’t help but beg, “No, don’t!”

“Hush,” John scolded softly, weighing the makeshift paddle in his hand. “I just want to test it out.”

Without so much as a moment’s hesitation, John gripped Sherlock by his upper arm and delivered two mighty smacks - _splat! spank!_ \- one to each of Sherlock’s buttocks with the brush’s hard back.

Sherlock yelped, bending his knees and lifting one foot up in the air, as a tremendous sting erupted against his already sore bottom-cheeks. He reached back and grabbed his buttocks with both hands, rubbing the fresh burning ovals the hairbrush had left there, wiggling his hips in frustration when he couldn’t squeeze away the radiating burn.

“Yes,” John said, mostly to himself, “That would do nicely next time, I think.”

_Again with the ‘next time’!_ Sherlock hoped that meant he wasn’t in store for any more swats at the moment, at least, and he gave John his best pleading face, eyes wet, and his plump bottom lip pouting out just a bit. It rarely worked on Mummy, but it was worth a shot. John’s face softened and he deposited the brush back on the counter.

“I think you’ve learnt your lesson, right?” Sherlock nodded. “Good.”

John leaned forward and planted a kiss against Sherlock’s forehead, and Sherlock’s heart nearly stopped. Even after John pulled away, Sherlock's skin continued to prickle where his lips had been. Sherlock stood there blinking at John, mind completely blank for once, unable to muster even the smallest deduction.

And then John _winked_ at him, seeming to restart his astonished heart with a flutter. “You can pull your trousers back up now.”

Sherlock did so, jerking the fabric up quickly and then fumbling with the button and zip with his trembly hands. His face was warm, his whole body thrumming with pleasure. He followed John back to his room, and after a few moments of awkward hemming and hawing, began talking about his experiment again, opting to stay standing in order to save his tender bottom from the hard seat of his desk chair. 

They had a pleasant afternoon discussing experiments, science, and school, and enjoyed a snack with tea. Time flew by, and Sherlock was surprised how late it had gotten when he heard the front door.

“Sherlock? John?” Mummy was home. She came up the stairs and peered into Sherlock’s room, her face relaxing when she saw the two boys safe and sound where she’d left them. “Oh, good. I’m glad you could stay, John. Sherlock, did you behave yourself while I was gone?”

Sherlock’s cheeks pinkened as memories of being bare bottomed over John’s knee sprung unbidden into his mind. He glowered at his mother. “ _Yes!_ ” he hissed.

Mummy Holmes raised one doubtful eyebrow and looked to John who shrugged. “Well, Mrs. Holmes, he was good as gold after a short trip over my knee.”

Her eyebrows shot up, and then she glared at Sherlock. “Really, Sherlock? You couldn’t even behave for _one_ afternoon?” She waved her hand at Sherlock’s trousers. “All right, let’s see the damage, then.”

“What?!” Sherlock’s voice came out much higher than normal in his embarrassed panic. She couldn’t possibly be serious!

“I need to be sure John didn’t go too easy on you. You’d best show me now or else I’ll assume he did and be forced to spank you again regardless!”

“Go on, Sherlock,” John said, and Sherlock’s jaw dropped. _Et tu, John?_ “I can’t have your mother thinking I wasn’t taking my childminding duties seriously. You’d better show her.” There was that little half-smirk again. John was _definitely_ enjoying this!

Sherlock grudgingly whirled around, unfastening his trousers and pulling them and his pants down only _just_ below his buttocks. Mummy clicked her tongue and grabbed the waistband of his pants, yanking them down farther while Sherlock struggled to hold on. They did a silly little tug-of-war that Mummy soon won, dragging his bottoms down to his knees. Then she and John appraised Sherlock’s naked bottom.

“Very nice job, John,” Mummy praised, giving Sherlock’s still pink rump a few pokes and prods. “Oh! The inner thighs, too. He must have been quite naughty!”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” John said, cool as a cucumber, as though they were discussing dinner preparations and not the details of Sherlock’s latest spanking.

“Next time you could try using some kind of paddle - like a spoon or hairbrush,” Mummy mused. “The effect will be more lasting.”

There was that ‘next time’ again, and Sherlock didn’t like it one bit!

“I was thinking the same thing,” John said, “But only if he really deserves it.”

Mrs. Holmes gave Sherlock’s buttocks a firm pat. “All right, you can pull your trousers back up now.”

  
Sherlock hurried to do so, blushing terribly and grumbling under his breath.

Mummy was clearly pleased, and she beamed at John. “Well, you’re welcome to spend time with Sherlock anytime you’d like. It’s honestly a relief knowing he’s in good hands.” She winked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but kept any rude comments to himself. His still sore bottom was a stark reminder of what he could expect if he pushed his luck, and so he kept on his best behavior to avoid any additional punishment; punishment that he now felt certain John was just itching to deliver at any given moment.

Thankfully, Mummy left them alone after that, and John stayed until it was nearly dark and he had to leave to pick up food for his sister’s dinner preparations. Sherlock walked him out the door and down the pavement, beginning to feel a little unsure where this bizarre day would leave them. John certainly seemed to have a prurient interest in spanking Sherlock’s bare bum, but what if Sherlock was misreading and John only saw Sherlock as a naughty little kid in need of strict discipline? Sherlock needed more data.

“Do you want to walk to school together tomorrow?” Sherlock asked, feeling ridiculous over how nervous he was to ask in light of everything that had happened.

John smiled, warm and genuine, and Sherlock felt he may burst. “Of course! How about I pick you up right here at half past?”

Sherlock nodded. They dithered for a few moments, both clearly reluctant to part ways. “You know,” Sherlock began, “You don’t _have_ to spend time with me just because … because of my mother. I really don’t need,” he swallowed, “‘looking after.’”

“But I want to spend time with you,” John furrowed his brow, “Unless you don’t want me around.” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish for the first time all day. “I guess I may have overstepped a bit. I hope you aren’t mad at me?”

John made a face that was a bit like a mischievous puppy buttering up his master, and even though Sherlock was feeling a bit conflicted, he couldn’t help but smile softly and shake his head.

“N-no, it’s fine. I just … don’t want you to feel you have to be responsible for me.”

“I’m older,” John said, straightening up. “And it’s certainly no hardship as far as I’m concerned.” He grinned and then pulled Sherlock into a hug. Sherlock made a little _oof!_ of surprise, eyes going wide. John’s hand made its way to Sherlock’s backside, giving one buttock a gentle squeeze. “I told you before you had a cute arse, and I meant it.”

Suddenly, John’s lips were against Sherlock’s. Sherlock’s eyes remained wide open for several seconds as his brain tried to catch up. John was actually _kissing_ him! His heart was going to burst out of his chest. John’s lips were insistent, and finally, Sherlock’s eyelids fluttered closed and he became an active participant in the kiss. It was his first, but though he was unpracticed, John led and Sherlock’s hormones took over. It was soft, wet and wonderful. John tasted like the tea they’d had that afternoon. Sherlock’s arse was tingling where John’s hand still cupped it, and he gasped out an embarrassingly high moan when their lips finally parted.

“See you tomorrow,” John said, his pink cheeks the only tell anything unusual had just occurred. 

Sherlock stared after him, mouth hanging slightly open, breath coming fast. Once he’d recovered, he rasped out a “Bye,” but it was already too late and too quiet for John to hear.

Sherlock walked back into the house in a daze, knowing he wouldn’t be sleeping at all that evening as he pondered the meaning of it all and what the future may possibly hold. He wasn’t sure where he and John would go from here, but he was both frightened and eager for whatever may be in store!


	4. Ditching Class is Naughty!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock's romance is blooming. Things are going well, but then John catches Sherlock skipping classes ...

Weeks passed, and Sherlock was living his life in a blur of blushes and heart pounding bliss. He’d always scoffed at romance, rolling his eyes at Mummy’s favorite telly programmes and bodice ripper novels, snorting at couples he saw holding hands at school, and waxing poetic over the manipulative marketing nonsense to do with engagement rings and Valentine’s Day. Now, however, for the first time, Sherlock was beginning to understand the appeal of it all.

He wasn’t sure if he and John were _officially_ a couple, but they spent as much of their free time together as possible, and they had even shared a few chaste kisses that made Sherlock’s chest tighten and his stomach flip-flop. John had begun to take Sherlock’s hand in his as they walked home together while Sherlock worried about the sweat on his palm, his head hot and buzzing the entire time.

Everything was perfect. That is until John’s rugby practices started back up. Sherlock tried sitting on the sidelines and watching, but he knew the other boys didn’t like him and though John was as kind as ever, the others gave him the cold shoulder at best, and snide comments at worst. Besides, Sherlock didn’t much like watching John be so friendly and, well, _handsy_ with other boys during practices. He understood it was part of the game, but even so.

So Sherlock decided not to bother coming to the practices anymore, and if John was so busy with them that they couldn’t spend time together, then why should Sherlock even bother going to school at all? Deep down, he knew it was a ridiculous and immature reaction to feeling snubbed and left out, but he could easily justify that he was smart enough to miss out on what the school deemed ‘education’ without suffering much for it.

Or so he thought. Sherlock hadn’t factored in John’s opinion on the matter of ditching school.

Whenever Sherlock didn’t feel like attending his tedious classes, he had taken to hiding out in various pubs that didn’t care how old he was or if he ought to be in school. Sometimes, if the weather was nice, he would sit at the park and smoke. However, he always made sure to be back at the school building to meet up with John after practice to walk home, of course. Sherlock wasn’t sure John would be a proponent of ditching, so Sherlock thought it best not to mention it. Luckily, John seemed none the wiser. That is, until a particular, unfortunate day.

On the day in question, Sherlock had wandered back to the school building early after being kicked out of a pub by the barkeep. The man apparently didn’t appreciate Sherlock accurately recounting his marital problems. The final school bell wouldn’t ring for at least an hour, so Sherlock settled behind the building, sitting with his back against the bricks and lighting a cigarette as he waited for school and John’s rugby practice to end.

Sherlock took a long drag and closed his eyes.

“Why aren’t you in class?”

It was John's voice! Sherlock’s eyes snapped open and he gasped, choking on the smoke and devolving into a coughing fit, chest tight and eyes watering. Once he recovered, he quickly tossed the cigarette aside, crushing it out beneath his toe on the concrete.

“John! Wh-what are you doing here?”

It was a stupid question, but Sherlock was so shocked that his deductions were coming a little slow. John was already dressed in his rugby uniform, and Sherlock couldn’t help but ogle his chest in the fitted shirt. John had a stack of helmets in his arms, presumably to be taken to the field. Sherlock had forgotten that John had a study period at the end of the day, and so he was probably using it to get a head start on preparing for after school practice. _Obviously_. And unfortunately, since John had caught Sherlock red handed skipping class and was now frowning angrily down at him.

"I asked you a question first, Sherlock."

“Um, well, you see …” Sherlock began rambling, needing to fill the angry, uncomfortable silence. “I mean, you _know_ I’m not really learning anything at school that I don’t already know, so what’s the point? It’s not like I’m missing out on a worthwhile education!”

John sighed and shook his head. “Follow me, Sherlock.”

“But … but … why?” It was a silly question since Sherlock had a good notion what John was thinking, though he hoped his deduction was wrong. 

“Because you’re in big trouble, and so I don’t want you out of my sight.”

Sherlock practically gulped as he struggled to swallow. After dithering for a moment, he reluctantly followed John to the field where John deposited the helmets on a bench and then led Sherlock back to the gymnasium. Sherlock’s ears buzzed the whole way, his cheeks warm, and stomach churning with nerves. Somehow, John was making him feel like a little kid who had been caught being naughty. Which, he supposed, was maybe _a little bit_ true, but Sherlock was fifteen - practically an adult! Besides, he and John hadn’t discussed the _spanking_ thing since the last time at Sherlock’s house, and Sherlock was beginning to pass it off as a fluke - a random compulsion John had given in to fulfilling out of curiosity and maybe even a bit of lust. Now, though, he desperately hoped that spanking would not factor into being in ‘big trouble.’

John led Sherlock through the gym and into the locker room. Sherlock wrinkled his nose at the unpleasant smell. It had been ages since he’d been forced to participate in physical education, which he deemed completely useless. Judo and fencing lessons could be useful, but showering in front of one’s classmates after jogging around a smelly gym and throwing balls at one another was just downright ridiculous.

“All right, Sherlock,” John’s clipped tone interrupted his thoughts as he led them to a back corner behind a row of lockers. “Thankfully, classes are still in session, and nobody is around, so we can handle your punishment for ditching right here and now.”

“Huh?” was all Sherlock could manage. John couldn’t be serious. They were at school! “What … what do you mean?”

“I think you know _exactly_ what I mean,” John said, raising his eyebrows, the corners of his lips quirking.

“But … but … you can’t! Not here!” Sherlock had to stop himself from stomping his foot which would only serve to make him look childish instead of way too old to be spanked at school by his upperclassman maybe-boyfriend.

“I can, and I’m thinking that I probably should. Did you know your mother told me just the other day that she was worried about you skipping school? Apparently she’d gotten some troubling reports from your professors. But, silly me, I told her that it must have been a fluke since we walked home together from school every day. Seems like I was wrong. Have you been skipping classes a lot, Sherlock?”

John’s serious, chiding tone made Sherlock feel terribly small, and he squirmed, face hot and red. “Well … um … only a few! Here and there! But I told you that they’re pointless, and - ”

“You shouldn’t be skipping classes at all! No matter how smart you are, you can’t pass if you don’t show up and do the work. I know you’re brilliant,” a spark of pleasure shot up Sherlock’s spine at the compliment in spite of his current terrifying predicament, “but you’re really being stupid. How will you ever get into University if you fail out for truancy? Which professors will write you letters of recommendation if you never show up to their lessons? Use that clever brain for a minute and _think_ , Sherlock.”

Sherlock hated to admit it, but deep down he knew that John was right. He’d known that, of course, but he’d let his gloomy feelings and laziness get in the way. “ _Okay_ ,” he said sullenly. “I won’t ditch classes anymore.”

“Quite right. And I’m going to see to it that you don’t. You see that corner over there? Go and face it.”

Sherlock’s jaw dropped. John couldn’t possibly expect him to stand in the corner _here_ ; at school in the smelly boy’s locker room where a coach, teacher, or student could walk in at any moment! Sherlock quickly scanned the no-nonsense face John was giving him, and realized that John really did expect him to obey and was not prepared to take no for an answer. Even so, Sherlock just _couldn’t_ make himself go to the corner.

“John …” he whined. “Please. Can’t we just … wait until later? At home?”

“I don’t think so, Sherlock. You have been naughty at school, so you’re going to be punished at school. Pity they don’t use the cane anymore. I’m sure it would serve as a perfect deterrent for a naughty little truant like yourself.” John smirked and Sherlock blanched. “But I do think having your bottom warmed here at school will serve as an excellent reminder the next time you think about skipping class. And that’s exactly what I plan to do.”

Although it was foolish, Sherlock suddenly got stubborn. John was being ridiculous! Sherlock frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. “This is absurd, and you know it! You can’t make me!”

The look that crossed over John’s face at that moment was dangerous, and Sherlock was hit with a strong inclination to run away. John wasn’t tall, but he was strong and stocky, muscles well toned after weeks of rugby practice, his presence loomed over Sherlock, who was all lanky, slender limbs. John's athletic frame was all the more apparent in his uniform, which emphasized his strong arms and legs. Sherlock felt a nervous, thrilling sweat break out along the back of his hairline.

“Fine,” John said. “You want to do this the hard way, then we will.”

Quick as a whip, John reached out and grabbed Sherlock roughly by the ear, and Sherlock yelped as he was dragged to the corner and deposited there. Still with a firm hold on his ear, John delivered a volley of sharp smacks to Sherlock’s trousers covered backside while Sherlock tried in vain to wiggle his hips out of reach. Then, while Sherlock was still unfairly distracted by his freshly stinging bottom, John made quick work of unfastening his trousers.

“No! Stop!” Sherlock hissed, but John only gave him another smack to the bottom before wrenching his trousers and pants down to his knees.

“Just so you know, Sherlock, I wasn’t going to take down your pants until you decided to be so obstinate. I was planning on giving you a short hand spanking over your trousers, but apparently you’re in need of a proper spanking. Now, you can either submit to my discipline or else I’ll confirm to your mother that you’ve been skipping your lessons and let _her_ handle you instead. So what’s it going to be?”

Sherlock’s bare bottom was stingy and tingling already from the few spanks John had delivered, his face burning in embarrassment. What if someone walked in and saw his naked bum in the corner? What if someone walked in while John was _spanking_ him? What if? What if?! Even so, Sherlock much preferred to be taken over John’s knee than Mummy’s, so he resolutely put his nose in the corner and, after John’s prodding, lifted his shirt to reveal his naked bottom to the room.

Once it was clear Sherlock was obeying, John left him there to go and open and close a locker, presumably his own. Sherlock shifted his weight from foot to foot, entire body thrumming with nerves and feeling unbelievably exposed and vulnerable with his naked lower half exposed. Thankfully, John returned quickly. “I’ve got a stopwatch here, Sherlock. I’m setting the timer for five minutes of cornertime. Starting now.”

Sherlock heard the beep of the stopwatch and groaned under his breath. This was outrageous. He stared at the peeling paint in the corner, curling his lip at the dirt along the baseboard. He tried to focus on these mundane details and make some deductions, but nothing seemed to distract him from the cool air on his bare bottom constantly reminding him that he was half naked _at school_. It was the longest five minutes of his life. He began to fidget, rolling forward and back on his heels until John cleared his throat, making Sherlock still at once.

Finally, the timer went off, a soft, steady beep that made Sherlock sigh in relief. Until he realized that if cornertime was over, then it was time for the spanking to begin! He peeked sheepishly over his shoulder at John, giving him an imploring look. Maybe John would decide he’d already gotten his point across and call the whole thing off. 

No such luck. John was already sitting on the bench wielding a wooden ruler that he had probably also fetched from his locker. Sherlock’s heart sank. John looked resolute and Sherlock knew his goose was truly cooked.

“Come here, Sherlock,” John said patting his lap, “Let’s get this over with before school ends and the entire rugby team comes in here to watch you getting your bare bum spanked.”

Surely John wouldn’t allow his teammates to watch, would he!? Still, the threat made Sherlock’s ears burn as he shuffled hurriedly over to John, pulling the fabric of his shirt down in the front to maintain _some_ modesty.

Once Sherlock stood in front of John, he couldn’t help but blurt out, “Please don’t use that!” eyeing the ruler warily. He remembered how much it had hurt when John gave him only a few spanks with Mummy’s hairbrush, and he imagined the ruler would pack a similarly unpleasant sting. He was not at all looking forward to it.

“I promised you a proper spanking, Sherlock, and I’m not about to go back on my word. A paddling on the bare bottom is exactly what you need, since I want to be sure you won’t even think about skipping classes again. Understood?”

Sherlock whined, but nodded, bottom lip trembling as he became resigned to his fate. John took Sherlock by the wrist and gently tugged him across his lap, maneuvering him into place and pushing his shirt well out of the way of his naked bottom. Even though Sherlock was currently perched bare bottomed over John's knee in the locker room at school, Sherlock could hardly believe that it was actually happening. He felt absurd and embarrassed and foolish and a little bit excited all at once. It didn't help that John’s shorts had ridden up, and Sherlock’s stomach (and other parts!) were pressed against John’s bare, muscular thighs. The skin-on-skin contact would have been overwhelmingly arousing in any other context, but his heart was already pounding with terror at the thought that someone might walk in and witness his humiliation at any moment. John, however, didn’t seem fazed by any of this, casually placing his hand on Sherlock’s exposed rump before launching into a brief lecture.

“I thought that I might not need to spank you again, Sherlock, but I was clearly mistaken. I want you to remember how foolish you feel right now half-naked over my knee at school the next time you’re tempted to play hooky. There are five minutes between classes, from one bell to the next, so I’m setting this stopwatch for five minutes,” John pressed the buttons and set the timer face-up on the bench where Sherlock could see it blinking ‘5:00’ at him. “That’s how long I’m going to spank you. Hopefully the lesson sinks in and serves as a reminder as you move from class to class tomorrow, and every day after to be sure you don’t get any ideas about sneaking off campus instead.”

John picked up the ruler and tapped it lightly against Sherlock’s bare bottom. “Start the timer, please.”

Wanting to get it over with quickly before someone came in, Sherlock reached with a trembling hand and pressed the ‘start’ button on the watch. As the seconds began counting down, John immediately began smacking the flat of the ruler down against the center of Sherlock’s backside.

Sherlock sucked in a breath. The swats were light and stingy, but not as deep and penetrating as the hairbrush had been, thankfully. John settled into a steady rhythm, spanking Sherlock’s naked buttocks from top to bottom. It stung, yes, but the swats weren’t overly _hard_. Sherlock could definitely take it. Five minutes was going to be nothing.

Five minutes was an _eternity_. Even though Sherlock could tell John wasn’t spanking as hard as he could, the cumulative effect of the ruler smacking again and again and _again_ against his naked flesh made it so Sherlock’s bottom was quickly ignited into flames! And every time Sherlock glanced at the timer, hoping it was almost over, barely any time had passed at all, and John just kept spanking, on and on!

Sherlock closed his eyes and tried to push through the stinging agony before looking again to the stopwatch to see there was still a whole minute left! It was too much! Sherlock just couldn’t stop crying out _oh! oh! oh!,_ writhing in John’s lap, fruitlessly clenching his buttocks, and stomping against the ground as John warmed his backside to a blistering heat. John focused most of his attention to the delicate skin at the tippy tops of Sherlock’s thighs just below his bottom, right where Sherlock would feel it most every time he sat down over the days to follow.

Finally, there were only thirty seconds left, but then John began to put his back into it, smacking the ruler down much harder than before. _Smack! Smack!_ against Sherlock’s bare buttocks, back and forth, left cheek, right cheek, delivering bands of pink and red burn across Sherlock’s tenderized skin. Sherlock yowled before biting his bottom lip in an attempt to keep quiet lest someone hear. He tried not to flail too much, but at a particularly sharp smack to the back of one thigh, he lurched right off of John’s lap, nearly tumbling to the floor.

John cursed under his breath, but kept them from both toppling over, pulling Sherlock back firmly onto his lap and delivering several extra hard ruler spanks to the backs of Sherlock’s thighs, making Sherlock screech.

“Sherlock!” John scolded. “You need to keep still!”

“I can’t!” Sherlock shrieked, voice coming ragged and wet. He was straining, legs stiff and hips shimmying, the fresh welts on the backs of his thighs stinging unbearably. “That damned ruler is _horrible!_ I can’t take it anymore!”

“Watch your language, young man!” _‘Young man?’_ John was really getting into it now, much to Sherlock’s dismay. “Should I fetch some of my teammates to help hold you down? Maybe a few that you’ve insulted before? I’m sure they’d love to see just how bright red your arse is … maybe even get in a few smacks, too.”

Sherlock stilled at once and shook his head, face blazing as he panicked at the mere thought.

“Good,” John said, picking up the stopwatch to adjust the time. “Let’s get on with it then. You made me lose track of the time. I’ll just set it back at one minute to be sure.”

“That’s not fair! There were less than thirty seconds left!”

“It’s your own fault for making such a fuss,” John shrugged, his lips doing that twitching thing again that meant a part of him was _definitely_ enjoying this. _What a little sadist!_ Sherlock wasn’t certain if this deduction made him more fearful or more intrigued, but John didn’t give him long to dwell on those thoughts since the timer started down from sixty seconds with another crack of the ruler against his bottom. “Try not to be such a baby about this, Sherlock. I expect you to take your spanking like a big boy!”

Sherlock might have balked at John’s ridiculous, infantilizing chiding, but the brief reprieve had only served to emphasize just how sore and throbbing hot Sherlock’s poor bottom already was, and so when the ruler paddling resumed, Sherlock could think of nothing else but how much his bottom hurt!

John showed no mercy, wielding the ruler like a pro, spanking Sherlock’s scalding bottom relentlessly until Sherlock was quite certain his punished flesh was going to burst into flames at any moment. Tears began welling in his eyes, and though under normal circumstances, crying at school would be unthinkable, Sherlock was in no frame of mind to give it much thought, so distracted by the blazing inferno that was his backside. 

When the timer hit ten seconds, Sherlock could barely read it through his tears, but he was filled with relief that it was almost over. This relief turned to anguish, though, as John set about finishing the spanking with a bang, delivering the hardest smacks yet. _CRACK! SMACK! WHACK!_ the ruler crashed down against Sherlock’s bottom so hard he wailed, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

Finally, the stopwatch beeped and the blows stopped coming. John put the ruler down, and Sherlock slumped over his lap, sniffling as his shoulders trembled and his blistered bottom burned.

“I hope you’ve learnt your lesson, Sherlock,” John said matter-of-factly, and Sherlock practically pouted over the lack of sympathy in his tone. “Because if you haven’t, and you ever skip class again, then you can expect ten minutes on the timer instead of five. I’ll do it every day you skip class if need be.”

“No, no, nooo!” Sherlock blubbered. “I’ll be good!”

“I hope so,” John said, giving Sherlock’s scalding hot bottom a little pat. “Because you wouldn’t believe just how red and sore your bum looks now, so I can’t imagine the sorry state you’d be in from an even longer and harder paddling! Now, get that naughty bottom back in the corner.”

Sherlock blushed, but the fight had been paddled out of him, and so, with his trousers having slipped down around his ankles, he waddled back to the corner, giving his blazing bottom a little rub. The skin was hot to the touch and, he assumed from John's earlier assertion, fire engine red.

“Keep your shirt lifted,” John reminded him. “I want a good view of your naughty red bum.”

Sherlock whimpered, but grudgingly held his shirt up around his waist, feeling terribly sorry for himself. The air on his bare bottom felt extra cool now that the skin was so scalded. It would almost be a relief if it weren’t so humiliating! Until now, Sherlock had been far too nervous and embarrassed for his penis to take interest in the outrageous proceedings, but now that he was standing exposed post-spanking, his lower half pulsing and radiating heat, his erection began to grow. Sherlock prayed John wouldn’t notice and that they would wrap this up before, Heaven forbid, anybody else came by and witnessed his shame and arousal.

Thankfully, it wasn’t long before John sidled up behind Sherlock, cupping one red hot buttock in his palm. “Bet you’ll be sleeping on your tummy tonight, but you brought this on yourself. I had no choice, really. You’re going to behave yourself from now on, aren’t you? No more skipping class?”

Sherlock fervently shook his head. “No! I promise!”

“Good,” John gave the sore buttock a squeeze and Sherlock squeaked indignantly, though his cock twitched in interest. John’s body was warm and close, and Sherlock wondered if John would slip his hand around and ...

Just then, the door to the locker room opened with a bang, and Sherlock jumped before frantically wrenching up his trousers, fumbling with the zip before getting himself somewhat righted just in the nick of time.

“Oi, Watson!” one of John’s rugby pals called as he rounded the corner of lockers to find Sherlock and John standing there. A lopsided, knowing smile broke out across the boy’s face. “I thought you were supposed to be setting up for practice, but you’re just hiding in here snogging your boyfriend instead?”

Sherlock’s heart was going rabbit-fast, his mind racing with potential excuses, but John only chuckled, cool as a cucumber. “Something like that.” John casually picked up the ruler and stopwatch and put them back in his locker. He turned to Sherlock. “I’ll see you after practice, yeah?”

Dazed, he nodded, and then walked stiffly out of the locker room, his trousers chafing his well-spanked bottom in the back, and squeezing his persistent erection in the front.

“Oh, and Sherlock?” John called, and Sherlock turned, raising a questioning eyebrow. “Absolutely no smoking while you wait.”

Sherlock’s cheeks pinkened. He’d forgotten that John had not only caught him skipping class, but smoking. He wondered, a bit perturbed, if a punishment for _that_ might come up at a later date!


	5. A Remedy for Boredom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets bored and restless when he isn't sure when a spanking is coming. John gets to the bottom of things and comes up with a brilliant solution.

After the locker room _incident,_ Sherlock expected another spanking sooner rather than later. John had caught Sherlock smoking in addition to skipping classes, after all, and Sherlock knew John most certainly did not approve. Further, the incident in question proved that John was most likely committed to this spanking thing, and so Sherlock could expect it to occur again at some point. Therefore, Sherlock kept waiting on anxious pins and needles to be summarily turned over John’s knee at any moment in order to have his bare bottom warmed right back up.

Surprisingly, though, it didn’t happen. Things continued on between them the same as before, with their new normal as sort-of-boyfriends; walking home from school together, holding hands, and sneaking kisses that left Sherlock breathless, but John never gave any hint or indication that further discipline was imminent. To his credit, Sherlock stopped ditching class, grudgingly attending each lesson every day. He had even cut back on the smoking, just in case, but John never mentioned it. Had John simply forgotten? Or was he just waiting for the perfect opportunity to officially give his opinion on the matter by delivering a sound spanking? The anticipation was unbearable, as well as Sherlock’s own confusion over the matter. When it came down to it, he wasn't sure whether he was more nervous or excited about the prospect. Sherlock hated being spanked, didn’t he? That’s what he had always assumed, at least, but somehow the spankings John had given him felt different. Of course, they were painful and embarrassing during, but Sherlock found his thoughts frequently returning to them later, hot pleasure blooming in his middle at the memories. He may have even rehashed the most thrilling moments while enjoying a wank or two (or more! He was a teenager in his lustful prime, after all!)

The longer Sherlock waited for something to happen, the more restless and frustrated he became. It didn’t help that Sherlock was finding it impossible to deduce John’s intentions, which made him doubt his deduction skills, in general. Had John decided to stop including spanking as a part of their relationship? Or did he simply think that Sherlock had learnt a strong enough lesson already this time? Either way, the uncertainty was driving Sherlock mad. So much so that he almost preferred that John would just hurry up and spank him already - for any reason at all!

“What’s wrong?” John finally asked one fateful afternoon.

They were sitting side by side on the sofa at John’s house. The telly was on, though Sherlock had a book open in his lap that was not keeping his attention in the least. John’s parents were still at work and his sister was at a club meeting. John’s own rugby practice had been cancelled on account of the coach being sick. The tension in the air _should_ have been thick with teenage hormones, ramping up until it overflowed and the two had a nice gropey snog on the couch. However, due to Sherlock’s mood of late, the tense air was on account of Sherlock’s foul attitude instead. He sat with his legs and arms crossed, a scowl on his face.

“Nothing’s wrong!” he snarled.

John snorted. “Of course something’s wrong. You’ve been in a snit all day. Hell, all week! Did something happen?” He frowned, worry-lines creasing his face. “Did I do something to make you angry?”

Sherlock softened. “Of course not, John. I’m just … feeling a bit off is all.”

“Do you need me to walk you home?”

“No! Not yet!” Sherlock hurried to say. He may be cranky, but he wasn’t about to miss out on spending the afternoon alone with John. He took a deep breath, trying to improve his mood so as not to ruin things. “I’m fine, really. Just, um, nervous about an exam later this week.”

“Really?” John asked, incredulous. Sherlock’s cheeks heated. It was a weak excuse, he knew, but thankfully, John shrugged and let it go.

Maybe John would spank him for lying. Or for being bratty. Surely John was going to do _something_. Sherlock sat and waited. And waited. And _waited,_ until he wanted to either pull his hair out or throw himself over John’s lap and scream _just spank me, already!_ Why wasn’t John scooting closer? Sherlock was getting unbelievably bored. And when he got bored, he looked for excitement, for simulation - no matter the cost. This had the potential to lead him down some unhealthy avenues, he knew, but he just couldn’t help himself! Suddenly, an idea hit him. If John wasn’t going to make the move, then Sherlock would take matters into his own hands. 

Sherlock set the book aside, stood up, and stretched. “I’ll be back,” he said, starting towards the door.

“All right,” John answered, not looking away from the programme.

Sherlock frowned. “Just stepping outside … for a quick smoke.”

_That_ got John’s attention. He whirled his head around to give Sherlock a disbelieving look. “What?! No you aren’t.”

Sherlock scowled, pretending to be surprised and absolutely affronted. “Of course I am,” he said, laying the impudence on thick with a snotty tone of voice.

“You are _not_. I thought I’d made myself clear that I didn't want you smoking anymore.”

Sherlock’s heart sped. John’s entire demeanor had shifted, and he was using that disciplinarian voice that made Sherlock feel all squirmy inside. He swallowed down his mix of nerves and excitement, and shrugged, a mask of indifference on his face. “Did you? I don’t remember.” He was in dangerous territory now, but he just couldn’t stop himself. Now that he finally had John’s full attention at last, he wasn’t about to give up. “Like I said, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Stop right there, Sherlock,” the tone made Sherlock freeze, a shiver going up his spine. “You never forget _anything_. What is this?” John narrowed his eyes, appraising Sherlock’s bratty sneer. John’s eyes widened in sudden realization. “Are you _looking_ for a spanking?”

Sherlock’s face flushed beet red and boiling hot almost instantly once the word was spoken out loud, and he sputtered out, “O-of course not!” _Was he, though?!_

“I think you are,” John said, the corners of his lips doing that infuriating twitching thing.

“Am not!”

“Well, whether you are or not, you’re treading dangerously close to a smacked bottom.”

Sherlock took an instinctive step back. “You can’t! It’s not fair!”

“If we’re dating, then it’s important to me that you don’t smoke. Not only is it terrible for your health,” John wrinkled his nose, “but it’s disgusting.”

Sherlock froze, blinking rapidly at John as his brain worked to catch up. _Dating._ John had said they were _dating_. Sure, Sherlock had been assuming as much, but now John had said it straight out. Sherlock’s chest tightened and his belly did a little flip. 

“Dating?” he finally choked out.

John gave his head a shake, a cheeky, lopsided grin on his face. “Of course we are, idiot. Haven't you noticed?”

This was certainly good news. However, even in light of this revelation, they remained on a precipice regarding the discipline thing. Would John really spank him again if he insisted on smoking? Sherlock hadn’t quite figured out whether he kind of _enjoyed_ being taken in hand by John, but he was still feeling starved for some physical attention, and so he foolishly pushed the matter.

“Even so,” he said, forcing away his smile and snidely turning up his nose. “You have no right to … to _punish_ me. I can do whatever I want!”

“Somebody needs to keep you in line,” John responded matter-of-factly. “You’re far too good at keeping most of your naughtiness hidden from your mother.”

Sherlock’s cheeks burned and his nostrils flared with anger. “I’m not a child, John!” he said with a stomp of one foot.

This made John chuckle. “Could have fooled me.” His face darkened then. “But if you insist on trying to go smoke right now, I’ll be forced to stop you.” His eyes flashed with a spark of interest, and Sherlock was quite certain John wouldn’t mind that in the least. In fact, John would certainly enjoy it. But would Sherlock? He wasn't sure ...

Sherlock’s pride and curiosity, of course, would be his downfall. “You can’t _stop me_ ,” he said, lip curling.

With little urgency, John slowly stood, making his way towards Sherlock. “I think we both know that I can.” 

Sherlock was seized with a sudden impulse to flee, but it would be downright absurd for him to _run away_ from John. Instead, he took only a couple steps back, holding up his hands in defense, which only made it all the easier for John to grab him by one wrist and drag him back to the sofa. While Sherlock was beginning to think that a small part of him kind of _enjoyed_ being spanked by John, suddenly faced with the prospect of an immediate spanking _right now_ , he panicked, squirming and trying to twist out of John's steel grip.

“Wait! No, no, no! You don’t have to do this! I won’t smoke! I promise!” Sherlock began rambling, trying to beg off from the inevitable.

“Too late, Sherlock,” John said, plopping back down onto the sofa and then somehow tipping Sherlock off balance and yanking him easily over and across his knees. “You apparently wanted my attention, and now you have it. For better or worse."

John didn't hesitate before clapping his hand down against Sherlock’s trouser-clad buttocks, and even through the fabric, the smack stung. A second, third, and fourth spank followed, warming up the skin and making Sherlock gasp. He was beginning to regret the desire for physical attention now that his bottom was on the receiving end of John’s strict palm. Still, a hand-spanking over his trousers didn't hurt all _that_ badly, and he suddenly realized with embarrassment that his penis was taking an interest in the proceedings. All those late night wanks fantasizing about John spanking his backside were apparently having a profound effect on the experience of going over John’s knee!

“I think it’s time we get those trousers down,” John said, urging Sherlock to budge up and allow him to unfasten them before working the fabric down his slender hips.

Sherlock panicked, expecting John to pull his fitted boxer-briefs down, as well, which would reveal his budding erection, but instead, John delivered a sharp spank to the seat of his underwear. John continued spanking, not nearly so hard as Sherlock knew he was able, and much slower than usual, as well. The swats were hard enough to sting, but the more subdued strength and pace continued to create a decidedly different atmosphere than the previous spankings John had given Sherlock. It was stimulating in a way that made Sherlock’s cock reach full-mast in no time, throbbing in his pants, the rub of it against John’s thigh as well as the warmth spreading out across his buttocks sending pleasant little tingles up his spine. He failed to subdue a wet, throaty gasp, which made John pause and huff a little laugh.

He patted Sherlock’s backside. “Why don’t we get these down as well? I just don’t think a spanking counts unless it’s on the bare bottom.”

John’s words made Sherlock squirm with a confusing mix of embarrassment and desire. With jerky movement that was partly reluctant and partly eager, Sherlock lifted his hips to assist John peeling his underwear down, blushing when the band caught on his very obvious erection. John took it in stride, releasing Sherlock's cock from the fabric (which it did with a humiliating little bob as it popped free) and baring his bottom. John managed to adjust Sherlock so that his trousers and pants were down around his knees and his cock hung hard and heavy between John’s thighs.

Sherlock had felt _a little_ arousal after his prior spankings from John, but this was worlds different. His head buzzed, his erection twitched, and his already warm buttocks tingled in delightful anticipation as the cool air of the room ghosted over his naked skin. He wondered idly if John noticed the state he was in, if he could tell just how unbelievably aroused Sherlock was, but then John’s hand smacked down sharply against one round buttock, and Sherlock tensed, clenching his cheeks at the burning sting. John paused, letting the warmth bloom across the skin before following up with a second spank. John continued on at that maddening pace, the heat growing and spreading as he steadily delivered smack after smack all over Sherlock’s exposed backside. This was nothing at all like a regular spanking. Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut, his face nearly as hot as his bottom, sweat beading along his hairline. His jaw was slack, mouth hanging open as he let out little whimpers here and there. He could feel his buttocks jiggling a bit with every spank, but the embarrassment of that realization only seemed to make him ache even more between the legs.

John finally stopped, and Sherlock felt like his entire body was on fire, the hottest of the flames centered on his bottom, of course. The heat was pulsing across his skin, and Sherlock felt like he was wound so tightly he would snap at any moment, the tension sparking up and down his spine. And then, instead of helping Sherlock off his lap, John placed his warm palm right on Sherlock’s red hot bottom and started to _rub._ An embarrassingly high, strangled sound escaped from Sherlock’s throat, and his penis throbbed. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he worried that he might be _leaking_ over John's lap, but his concentration was so completely shot as John groped his well-spanked, naked buttocks that he soon stopped caring.

“You really needed this spanking, didn’t you, Sherlock?”

Sherlock didn’t know what to say. His brain had shorted out and he couldn’t seem to form any words at all. He merely groaned, writhing over John’s lap - this time not in pain, but desire.

John gave one buttock a firm squeeze. “I just can’t get over how red your arse gets from a spanking. It’s practically glowing.” Sherlock gasped, thrusting his hips with no small amount of desperation. John gave him a sudden spank that made him still. “Naughty,” John lightly scolded, chuckling. “You know, Sherlock, if you ever _want_ a spanking like this, you need only ask. There’s no need to be a brat. Were you _really_ intending to go for a smoke?”

Sherlock only bit his lip and whined, and John delivered another smack right in the center of his bottom. “N-no!” Sherlock cried out. “I … I just … you were mad about the smoking the other day, but … I thought …”

“Ah, I understand,” John said, rubbing Sherlock’s buttocks again. “I failed to follow through on a threat, and you were feeling neglected. I'm sorry, Sherlock. I promise it won’t happen again. In fact, I have a brilliant idea.”

Sherlock furrowed his brow. He trusted John, but was nervous about what John might consider a ‘brilliant idea’ when it came to spankings.

“I propose a regularly scheduled spanking. Once a week, perhaps. Just to keep you on the straight and narrow and be sure you don’t get too bored and let that genius mind spiral out of control.”

Right now, while lying over John’s knee with his bright red bottom all hot and pulsing, and his erection throbbing eagerly between his legs, Sherlock didn’t feel like this was a particular bad idea. In fact, if anything, it sounded more than a little appealing.

“What do you say, Sherlock?”

It was entirely unfair that John ask Sherlock to make the decision in his current vulnerable state, with his bottom half all naked and exposed right there across John's lap, but Sherlock had long since deduced that John wasn’t above invoking a little deviousness.

“Er, um …” Sherlock’s face flushed even hotter, and he wished some of the blood would flow back into his brain rather than only to _other_ places.

John rubbed and groped at Sherlock's bottom, spreading him open and closed in the process, which was terribly distracting. “A nice bare bottom spanking you can count on once a week, yeah? So you won’t have to worry about whether or not it’s coming? You won’t need to purposefully misbehave to get what you're after?”

“But what if I’m good?” Sherlock finally found his voice, though it came out meek and breathless.

“What if?” John said, and Sherlock could hear his grin. “From the looks of things, I'd say you don’t necessarily hate this treatment, hmm?" John trailed his fingers lightly between Sherlock's bottom cheeks and nearly down to the back of his balls. Sherlock instinctively clenched, gasping and squirming. "So, then, if you’ve been good beforehand, I can make sure it’s a more pleasant experience. Maybe even a little bit fun?” 

Sherlock's head was overwhelmed, but his body more than willing, so he merely nodded, agreeing to whatever John wanted to propose if it meant he’d regularly have John’s hands on him in such intimate and exciting ways.

“But - ” John took his hand away, and Sherlock grunted, shockingly disappointed at the loss. “If you’ve been naughty, then you can expect a no nonsense spanking and a very sore backside. Understood?”

Sherlock nodded again, feeling a bit like a bobblehead.

“So, it’s really up to you and your behavior,” John continued. “Whether I be strict or indulgent. Are we agreed?”

Sherlock must have hesitated too long, because John gave him a tremendous spank, and so Sherlock rushed to squeak out, “Yes, John!”

John gave Sherlock a final, albeit lighter smack on the bottom as if to seal the deal, and then urged him to stand. Sherlock hurriedly tugged his shirt down in the front to hide his erection, as it was jutting out hard and proud in a rather obscene manner (even though John had surely noticed it rubbing against his thighs throughout the spanking he’d just delivered!) John didn’t comment, though, only smirking as he instructed Sherlock to get dressed. Sherlock was a bit disappointed that John didn’t seem interested in taking things further at the moment, but if Sherlock was being honest, he wasn’t sure he was ready either. He thought his head might actually explode if John were to do something really bold like reach out and take Sherlock's cock in hand. As Sherlock reluctantly tucked himself away and did up the zip on his trousers, he covertly glanced at John, who was moving a bit awkwardly himself on the sofa. As John shifted, Sherlock glimpsed the outline of John’s own erection, which, with a blush, he realized was rather impressive in size compared to his own!

He wondered if a ‘fun’ spanking might involve something to do with the massive length that John was apparently hiding in his own trousers, the thought making his heartbeat ratchet. He forced himself to look away, embarrassed that he’d been staring at John’s crotch, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. John only grinned and gave Sherlock a knowing wink that sent his face flushing again.

John looked to the wall-clock and sighed. “I hate to chase you out, but my mom will probably be home from work soon. Can I walk you home?”

* * *

  
Sherlock tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep with so many stimulating images popping unbidden into his mind. He finally gave into the temptation to shove his hand down his pyjama bottoms and indulge in fantasies of John’s hand smacking his bare bottom over and over and _over_. The memory of John’s fingers between his buttocks quickly pushed him over the edge and then he lay panting, excited and confused all at once. Just as he was finally drifting off to sleep, he couldn’t help but waffle over whether he should be good or naughty over the following week …


	6. Almost a Good Boy (But Not Quite)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is eagerly (and apprehensively) awaiting his first weekly maintenance spanking, and it's looking like it will be a pleasurable, 'good boy' spanking. Unfortunately for him, things go wrong! John is kind enough to give Sherlock a taste of pleasure, though, AFTER he's thoroughly punished!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexual contact between John and Sherlock begins to occur in this chapter, FYI!

When Sherlock had been hard and horny over John’s knee, his bottom warm in a way that was far more pleasing than unpleasant, submitting to a weekly spanking had sounded like a grand idea. Later that night, however, after Sherlock had indulged in a fervent wank and lay panting and shuddering on his bed, doubts began to creep into his mind. Did he really want a spanking from John _every_ week? No matter what? It would certainly take a lot of the deduction work out of things, which would be a relief, but was that worth it? And how exactly did John intend to make spankings enjoyable, provided Sherlock behaved? Sherlock had eventually enjoyed things this last time, but he couldn’t stop his brain from spiraling out of control at the possibilities. After tossing and turning for ages, he finally fell asleep to all manner of delightful fantasies, and was even feeling a bit disappointed that he had to wait a whole week for another spanking!

Sherlock _almost_ made it the entire week on his best behavior, anticipating his impending trip over John’s knee with a healthy mix of excitement and trepidation. Unfortunately, just one day before his scheduled trip over John’s knee, Sherlock managed to cock it all up.

It was all John’s sister’s fault, really. Harriet Watson - Harry, as most people called her - was a nosy, obnoxious little prat, in Sherlock’s opinion. She was at that insufferable preadolescent age that turned parents’ hair grey, and he was thankful that he rarely had to be around her. This was why when John came walking up to meet Sherlock in the park one day with Harry trailing behind, Sherlock was more than a little put-out.

John, looking flustered, pulled an apologetic face and hurried to explain. “Sorry, Sherlock. My parents made me bring her. An emergency with my Nan came up, and they couldn’t take her to her swim practice, so I’ll need to drop her off on our way. I really am sorry!”

They had planned to meet up and go to the cinema together that afternoon. Sherlock honestly felt that movies were a bit dull, but John seemed to enjoy them, and besides, they could hold hands in the darkened theatre and maybe even kiss a little. Spending time with John’s tedious little sister, however, had _not_ been a part of the plan. Still, Sherlock was determined not to ruin the mood, so he merely shrugged it off. It was only to drop her off, and then he and John would enjoy some alone time together ‘watching’ a movie.

“It’s fine. No problem,” he said.

“Thanks, love.”

Sherlock’s cheeks heated and his heart fluttered. No matter how many times John referred to Sherlock with some term of endearment, Sherlock never seemed to get over the warm, wiggly feelings he felt as a result.

“ _Gross,_ ” Harry rudely cut into Sherlock’s glee, following up with some offensive fake gagging noises. Sherlock scowled at her.

“Shut it, Harry,” John said, his own ears a bit pink. “Come on. Let’s get you to swimming practice and out of our hair.”

“Whatever,” she huffed, rolling her eyes. “I don’t need you to walk me anyway. I’m not a baby!”

“I don’t like it anymore than you do, but Mum and Da said.”

They set off with Harry interrupting and complaining like a twit the entire way. It got so bad that the mere sound of her voice made Sherlock want to scream or punch her, but he kept his mouth shut and his opinions (and fists) to himself, not wanting to upset John. Instead, he ground his teeth and rolled his eyes liberally when John wasn’t looking. At last, they made it to the indoor community pool without much incident. That was when things took a turn for the worse.

“I dun wanna go swimming. It’s _boring,_ ” Harry whined.

“I don’t really care,” John said, clearly just as tired of her company as Sherlock was.

This sort of bickering between two siblings was familiar to Sherlock, though. He and Mycroft had surely argued like that when Mycroft was still home, but ever since Mycroft had grown up and gone away to Uni, they barely spoke anymore. There would be something a bit nostalgic about it if Harry weren’t currently keeping Sherlock and John from going off together.

“Take me to the movie with you!”

“Not a chance, pipsqueak.” John barked out an incredulous laugh.

“You’re just trying to get rid of me so you can go shag your boyfriend!”

Sherlock’s face went red, and he instinctively responded, “What?! No! That’s not - you don’t - ”

“Shut up, Harry, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” John said, giving her a firm push towards the community center door.

She huffed and referred to Sherlock with a sneer, “Not sure why you picked him anyway. He’s a weirdo. And an ugly wanker. Not sure how you’d even get it up. Snogging him must be disgusting!”

“HARRY!” John shouted, red in the face.

Sherlock had had enough. He stepped forward to tower over the girl, face dark and furious to hide the hurt inside. His acerbic tone cut through whatever lecture John was prepared to give. “Well, _you’re_ an insufferable little brat who’s just jealous that your brother has a boyfriend when you have nothing more than a pathetic crush on your maths teacher. Do you really think he’d want anything to do with such a short little girl like you who still sucks her thumb and sometimes wets the bed?”

Harry stared at Sherlock with her mouth gaping for several moments before her eyes began to water and she burst in tears. Sherlock turned triumphantly towards John only to find him glaring with fury.

“Sherlock!” John hissed, eyes darting around in embarrassment at the scene they were causing. “Nice going. Really. How could you?”

It was Sherlock’s turn to gape. How could John be angry at _him?_ Harry was the one who had been a little brat! “I … I … but John, she started it!”

“She’s _eleven!_ ” John sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. It appeared there was no chance of calming Harry down, and she was in no state for a swimming lesson. John’s shoulders slumped in defeat as he gave it up for a lost cause, urging her down the pavement with him and away from Sherlock. “Come on, Harry, let’s go home.” He pursed his lips and gave Sherlock a pointed look. “We’ll talk _tomorrow,_ Sherlock.”

But tomorrow was spanking day! And Sherlock had just made John angry! Sherlock stood awkwardly as John walked away, his insides churning with nerves. His heart sank and he could feel his own fresh tears welling in his eyes. He’d been so good, and then Harry had to come and ruin everything. It wasn’t fair! Not only was the movie date off, but Sherlock would undoubtedly face an unpleasant punishment spanking from John now. Glowering, Sherlock stormed home and shut himself up in his room to pout and seethe.

* * *

Sherlock _could_ have refused his scheduled weekly spanking. Deep down, he knew that. He didn’t _have_ to submit discipline from John, of course, but somehow he never once entertained the idea of backing out. For whatever reason, he was willing to leave the fate of his bottom up to John, trusting him implicitly. And so, the next day, he waited on anxious pins and needles for John to arrive at his empty house (his parents were visiting friends all afternoon), his bottom tingling with anticipation. He wasn’t sure exactly what John had planned, but he could imagine many unpleasant possibilities. In fact, he’d spent a good portion of the prior evening wide awake in his bed worrying about them!

When the bell finally rang, Sherlock rushed to answer it, determined not to risk doing anything to increase John’s ire. Thankfully, John didn’t look nearly as furious as he had when Sherlock had last seen him, but his face was still serious, resolute in a way that made Sherlock’s stomach do a little flip.

Even though it was Sherlock’s house, John led the way to the family room with Sherlock padding behind, looking to the floor, head drooping and downcast. John took a seat on the sofa while Sherlock stayed standing, worrying his hands behind his back and waiting for instruction.

“Sherlock,” John began, “You were so good for most of the week, and I was really looking forward to something more fun than a real punishment. I want you to remember that today could have been nothing but a pleasant experience for you, but you just _had_ to fall into old, bad habits yesterday.”

Sherlock was dying to interrupt, to explain that he was only defending himself. That John’s sister was a nuisance and that it wasn’t fair. However, he wisely kept his mouth shut.

“I know my sister was a prat,” John said, as though reading Sherlock’s mind. “But that doesn’t excuse you bullying an eleven year old. You’re nearly five years older than she is, and you ought to know better. That bratty mouth of yours is a problem, Sherlock. When you act so impulsive and immature, it makes me question whether I should be dating you at all!”

Sherlock snapped his eyes up at John and gasped, a cold terror settling down his spine. “N-no! Please, John, I’m sorry!” He could feel tears pricking the corners of his eyes. “I didn’t … I mean … I’m so sorry!”

  
It was a new record - John hadn’t even started spanking yet, and Sherlock was already in tears!

John’s face softened, and he reached out and took Sherlock’s hands in his own. “I’m not threatening to break up with you or anything. I’m just explaining why I’m so angry over this. And why I’m about to give you a punishment spanking. You need to learn to watch what you say, Sherlock, and I’m going to make sure you learn that lesson right here and now.”

Sherlock only nodded, sniffling.

“Now, take off your trousers and pants, please. You certainly won’t be needing them.”

Sherlock bit his lip, but didn’t even argue, still shocked into obedience by John’s serious lecture, unfastening and shimmying out of his trousers without complaint, and then pulling down and stepping out of his underpants with a little blush. He set the clothing aside, and stood awkwardly in his shirt and socks, both of which only served to accentuate how bare his bottom was beneath his well-tailored shirt. He clasped his hands in front of his genitals. Apparently, his penis had missed the memo that this was to be a _punishment_ spanking and not a fun one, since it had already begun to rise. John dutifully ignored it, however, clearing his throat.

“Go and fetch that hairbrush I know is in the upstairs bathroom.”

Sherlock balked. Couldn’t he have gotten that _before_ he’d undressed? He realized at once, though, that that was very much the point, and so he nodded and obeyed. Even though he was alone in the house, he felt ridiculously exposed walking down the hall and up the stairs with his bottom bare, aware of each and every jiggle of his small buttocks. The air was cool on his naked skin, emphasizing how red hot it would surely be soon enough!

The hairbrush was, unfortunately, right where Sherlock expected it to be on the sink. His blood was pounding in his ears as he picked it up, feeling how hard and heavy it was in his hand and gulping down a hard swallow at the thought of it paddling his bare bottom in mere moments. He made his way slowly back downstairs, his naked rump prickling all the way.

John looked grim as he took the hairbrush from Sherlock. It seemed that John really had been looking forward to something more enjoyable, and Sherlock mentally kicked himself for running his mouth and spoiling it. Harry was obnoxious, yes, but Sherlock really had overreacted - trading insults with an eleven year old girl was pretty pathetic for someone of Sherlock’s age and intelligence, he had to admit. This inner acknowledgment didn’t make him any more eager for a hairbrush paddling on his bare bottom, though! He shifted his weight from foot to foot as John wagged the brush at him.

“I should have known you couldn’t last a whole week without being naughty, Sherlock,” John said with a sigh. He patted his lap. “Let’s get this over with.”

Blushing, Sherlock clambered over John’s knee, allowing John to maneuver him into the perfect position. John pushed Sherlock’s shirt far up his back, which was unnecessary since Sherlock’s bottom was already completely bare, but this somehow served to make Sherlock feel even more exposed and vulnerable. John tapped the back of the hairbrush lightly against the center of Sherlock’s bottom, and Sherlock clenched his bum tightly.

“I want you to think about holding your tongue and acting your age,” John said in a stern tone.

The brush was then raised high and away from Sherlock’s bottom, only to return with a searing hot _WHACK!_ And then another _SMACK!_ … followed by a third _WAP!_ … and then Sherlock lost count. John was fierce in his wielding of that wicked brush, paddling so hard and fast that Sherlock could barely catch his breath, let alone count the swats! Each fiery hot smack hit like a blowtorch, burning up the tender flesh of Sherlock’s backside.

Sherlock most certainly wasn’t thinking about ‘holding his tongue and acting his age.’ In fact, he wasn’t thinking much of anything at all aside from the stinging, burning bite of the hairbrush that John was relentlessly smacking against his poor bottom. And that John was being horribly, dreadfully mean!

Sherlock bucked and kicked, squealed and shouted, entirely incapable of keeping still or quiet with the makeshift paddle lighting his backside on fire - especially when John cruelly delivered some sharp swats to the backs of his thighs. John had to wrap his free arm around Sherlock’s slender middle and hold him tightly to keep Sherlock pinned over his lap, ensuring that his bottom would remain well in range of the punishing hairbrush until John decided he was good and finished with the lesson. And not a moment before.

It felt to Sherlock like the spanking went on for ages, but in reality, it was likely only a few minutes. However, a few minutes was all it took for his bottom to feel as though it had been lit on fire, scalding hot and throbbing with high heat by the time John finally decided he was finished and set the brush aside. Sherlock only wanted to lay there limp over John’s lap, but John urged him up right away, and Sherlock reluctantly stood, rubbing his aching bottom and sniveling.

“That’s quite enough rubbing,” John chided, and Sherlock dragged his hand away from his blazing bottom. “I want you to go to the kitchen and see if you can find a bag of uncooked rice. Go quickly - no dawdling!”

Confused, Sherlock obeyed, too sore and sorry to question such an odd request, and for too distracted to make any deductions. He went into the kitchen and found a small bag of rice in the pantry which he hurried to bring back to John, not wanting to risk any additional spanking for disobedience. It was an unpleasant journey, since now his buttocks were so scalded that every small jiggle of his bottom chafed with stinging irritation. He was quite certain his bottom was bright red, and he could tell that John had paddled up a painful crop of blisters along the lower portion of both buttocks; right along his sensitive sit-spots!

John took the bag of rice with a rueful grin, realizing that Sherlock had been unable to deduce its purpose. In his defense, Sherlock had been rather preoccupied with his well-paddled bottom, thank-you-very-much! John stood and dragged a wooden desk chair over to the corner. The chair was so rarely used that Sherlock had forgotten it was even in the room. John then opened the bag of rice and poured a generous amount all over the hard seat of the chair.

“This is where you’re going to spend corner-time; where you will sit and think about how you ought to behave yourself,” John informed Sherlock matter-of-factly.

Sherlock’s jaw dropped. The little beads of rice took on an entirely new and fearsome quality when he looked at them now, and Sherlock most definitely did _not_ want to sit his sore, bruised buttocks on top of them. However, knowing he had no choice, he gingerly lowered his bare bottom down onto the chair of rice. 

It was just as unpleasant as he had imagined. The dry, hard little pieces dug into his blistered sit-spots. It felt like a million little pinpricks, irritating the hot, reddened skin. The tiny, stiff rice bits stabbed his poor bottom all over, making him instinctively squirm and shift his weight, which only led to more and more painful jabs into his punished flesh each and every time he moved.

Sherlock whimpered and sniffled, feeling very sore and sorry for himself, swearing up and down to himself that he would never, _ever_ do anything naughty again. He was feeling so miserable that he didn’t even get the usual little twinge of arousal he often did after a spanking, his penis lying sad and limp against his thigh as he suffered atop the riced chair.

After what felt like _forever_ , John finally let Sherlock out of the corner. He helped to brush off the rice that had stuck to Sherlock’s bottom ( _very roughly_ Sherlock noted with a pout!), and then helped to clean up the mess.

“All right, Sherlock, I think you’ve learnt your lesson,” John said once they had everything back in order. He gave Sherlock a hug and a chaste peck on the lips. “I assume that punishment should be enough to keep you on your best behavior, but …” Sherlock gave him a panicked look, fearing further discipline, and John gave him a cheeky grin. “Don’t worry, Sherlock. This is something I think you’ll like. I’ve decided that perhaps a little taste of what you can look forward to next week _if_ you behave might be a nice incentive. They say the carrot works better than the stick, yeah?”

Stunned, Sherlock nodded, eagerness blooming in his chest and, embarrassingly, between his legs, as well. John led Sherlock back to the sofa and laid him on his back. Before Sherlock could begin to get embarrassed about being in this position while naked from the waist down, John pushed his legs up and back so that Sherlock’s bottom was almost facing upward as he was bent nearly in half. Now, Sherlock was even _more_ exposed than he had initially expected!

“Wh-what are you doing?!” Sherlock choked out, covering his flushed face with his hands.

“Nappy position,” John explained, which only made Sherlock blush more, groaning in humiliation. How could John just _say_ such things so easily?!

John ignored him, though, picking the hairbrush back up. Sherlock tensed, but instead of spanking, John began rubbing the bristles lightly all over Sherlock’s red hot bottom. The sensation was strange, tickly almost, and sent pleasant tingles shooting up Sherlock’s spine. His cock began to plump up at once. Without warning, John flipped the brush over and delivered several light _waps_ to Sherlock’s taut bottom before going back to rubbing the bristles against the skin.

Sherlock had most definitely never been spanked like this before. He hadn’t even realized this was a way in which someone _could_ be spanked! And John wasn’t even _really_ spanking him; John’s ministrations with the brush (the same hairbrush that had bruised, blistered, and burned his bottom only a short time before) were now more stimulating than punishing. Sherlock felt so terribly vulnerable like this - his bottom, his anus, his genitals, and worst of all, his face were all offered up to John’s mercy.

Sherlock’s erection was at full mast in no time, sticking straight up, hard against his stomach, and there was absolutely no way to hide that obvious arousal. John put the brush down and then urged Sherlock to spread his thighs, his knees still bent and socked feet still up in the air.

“You see how much fun it can be?” John asked, voice low and husky. “Just look how much your little chap is enjoying _this_ spanking, Sherlock.”

John was talking about his _penis_ , Sherlock realized in mortification. Heat flared in Sherlock’s face, electric shocks of arousal went shooting up and down his spine. How could something so utterly humiliating be so arousing?! He thought he might explode at any moment from the warring sensations. And then John wrapped his hand right around Sherlock’s erection, and it felt as though his brain really had shorted out from the burst of pleasure that followed.

Sherlock was, of course, a virgin, and so nobody had ever touched him there before. John held Sherlock’s erection in one hand and then began lightly spanking Sherlock’s bottom with his other. Sherlock’s skin was already plenty warmed up, and, rather than hurting at all, the soft spanks sent little jolts of lust into Sherlock’s groin and belly.

“This is a ‘good boy spanking,’ Sherlock,” John murmured, biting his lip while staring intensely down at him. Even though Sherlock was in no state for deductions, he could tell that John was rather keen himself. So fierce was John’s gaze, that Sherlock had to close his eyes, this entire scenario far too overwhelming for him to process at the moment.

John continued softly spanking, and it only took a few strokes and squeezes of his hand around Sherlock’s cock before the pleasure mounted and his orgasm rushed in. His mouth dropped open and he let out an embarrassingly shrill sound as he ejaculated over his own stomach and chest while John gently stroked and spanked him through it.

Sherlock kept his eyes closed as he lay panting and trembling in utter disbelief of what had just occurred. And then John was cleaning him off with a warm, damp flannel, and Sherlock hadn’t even noticed that John had gone and come back. John finished and then pressed kisses to Sherlock’s eyelids, shushing the little whimpers Sherlock hadn’t realized he was making out loud.

“You can be a good boy, can’t you?” John whispered. “I won’t spoil you like this next week if you misbehave again. Understood?” Sherlock nodded fervently, vowing to himself that he would be on his best behavior over the following week no matter what!


End file.
